Kiss
by Sarahbookjunkie
Summary: Just a drabble-y bit of nonsense, set somewhere in the not-too-distant future, from Lois's POV. Clois oneshot.


On reflection, Lois realised, she had never been kissed so much in her life.

She had overheard Dinah (the harpy) telling Bart once that if she didn't walk in on Clark and Lois kissing at least once a week, there was something wrong.

Lois decided to be the bigger person and not start a rumour in retaliation that Dinah hadn't had any action in months.

Only last week Oliver decided to be bold and mention in passing that there was an alarming amount of puckering up occurring between Lois and Clark. His defence for bringing the subject up was that he was only mentioning it out of concern (for whom, he never said).

Lois retorted that both the Danish underwear model and the Texan heiress had experienced their fair share of kissing from him, and not just on the mouth (and at the same time, too).

Oliver didn't mention anything out of concern ever again.

It did get Lois thinking, though. She mentioned to an appalled Clark on the way home from work one day that maybe they should cut back on the amount of kissing they did. The look on his face made her rethink that stupid suggestion inside 2.3 seconds and kiss him in apology. One thing led to another which led to the back seat of the truck being christened.

Lois resolved not to listen to a word Oliver said in the future.

An annoyed tut from somewhere in the office drew her attention to the fact that she was practically wearing a groove in the surface of her desk by drumming her fingers like a marching band. It was a slow afternoon on an even slower news days, and sitting staring at Clark's empty chair, Lois decided that cataloguing all the kisses Clark gave her was a much more attractive alternative to boredom.

She thought about the one he had given her ten minutes ago on his way out the door to save the world (again). It said "sorry, I have to go… don't worry about me, I'll be back". When he reappeared, he'd kiss her again, and that one would say "see? I'm back and I'm alright".

In fact, Clark said an awful lot when he kissed her.

Some were gentle, understanding kisses that said "I'm sorry" or "I'm here. Talk to me". There were insistent ones that said "I don't want you to leave", even when she was only getting out of bed in the morning. There were relieved ones that said "I missed you" or "I'm glad you're ok" and "next time you want to run after the escaped robot bent on death and destruction, at least let me come with you".

There were kisses that said "hello"; uncertain ones for "I don't know what I'm doing and I need you to help me"; interested ones for "_helloooooooooo_, Lois"; butterfly kisses that said "good morning" and "good night". There were short ones and long ones and in-between ones.

Then there were the ones that touched her deeply, invoking a myriad of emotions she couldn't even begin to describe, even to him. There were solitary ones when he came home tired and defeated; deep drugging kisses accompanied by her toes curling as they made love; desperate kisses when he was lost in a sea of pain and anger, searching for his lifeline; lazy kisses when he woke up and, as always, reached for her to make sure she was still there.

Into this mix were thrown a variety of other kisses; smiley ones when he was happy; frowny ones when something was bothering him; daring kisses in the middle of an argument, or she had challenged him over something, or their parents were in the next room; sad ones on days that he mourned; teasing ones to see how far he could push her; surprised ones when she did something he didn't expect (there were a lot of those); and grateful ones for just being her.

Mucho kissage? Oh _yes._

And then, there was The Kiss.

It seemed ridiculous, now Lois thought about it, that she should have a favourite kiss, but out of the mass of lip-on-lip-and-other-places-too action that she experienced on a daily basis, this one stood out. It had a very specific beginning and, depending on where they were, very different endings.

Lois didn't know how it had started - probably as payback for something - but it occurred under every kind of circumstance, whether they were in the middle of a heated discussion, or a lazy Saturday afternoon outside. Whatever they were doing, it always started the same way; Clark would gaze at her intently, and before she could even blink he had her trapped between himself and a hard surface.

The hard surface came in many different forms; the bathroom door, the kitchen counter, the wall of the barn, the post in the loft, the truck as it sat in the _Planet's_ parking lot, her desk – and not always out of hours – his desk, the wall of the storage room, the edge of the _Planet's_ roof, the back door of the _Talon_…. Clark and PDA? Duck, meet water.

His hands would rest behind her with only an inch or two between their bodies, not quite touching. His eyes would rake appreciatively over her body, at which point Lois would forget about unimportant things like breathing in and out. He would lean in closer to her, their lips almost touching, and then hover there, drawing out the moment of anticipation. It was almost as if he was saying that here and now, there was only them, and the rest of the world didn't exist.

He would press his lips very gently to hers, a soft pressure that left her wanting more; then he really kissed her, with his whole self and not just his mouth. One of his hands always seemed to find its way to her lower back while the other got lost in her hair.

If they were in public, Clark would step back and smile, a slow wicked smile heightened by the glint in his eyes that promised 'later', which Lois liked. If they were at home (and yes, the barn counted as home) things would get progressively more interesting, which Lois liked better.

What Lois _really_ liked was that even if Clark didn't speak the words, each and every kiss said "I love you".

_**Fin**_


End file.
